


Lead Me Home

by Washedandburied



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bottom!Mickey, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Gallavich, Homophobia, Ian is 16 when we start and it just... happens from there, Jealous Ian Gallagher, M/M, Protective Ian, Slow Burn, Top!Ian, im trying to heal my wounds with this lets hope it works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-21 19:36:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13747842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Washedandburied/pseuds/Washedandburied
Summary: Following two young, destructive boys on a path to finding a home with each other.Same shameless universe, different story lines.





	1. How Ian Gallagher saw Mickey Milkovich

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is Ian, next will be Mickey, and the third will pick up where the two leave off. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> also, im taking some artistic liberties with the whole mama milkovich situation, so forgive me.

The first time Ian Gallagher ever laid eyes on Mickey Milkovich was at the boy's mother's funeral. 

Ok, maybe not the first time. The name was familiar. They were Southside, everyone had seen everyone who was someone or no one. The same people passed out drunk in the ditches every couple days, mumbling and still clutching the half empty bottle. The same men were always coming home from prison, hopeful family and grinning boys, leaping into daddy's arms just for him to be harshly ripped from them again far too soon, of his own accord. The same women drank at the bars, scorned by harsh neon fluorescence and the dulling effect of an alcohol addiction. Ian Gallagher had seen everyone, but for some reason he had never seen Mickey Milkovich. 

The boy's dark hair was dripping water into his eyes due to the rain, but adamantly refused to step under his sisters umbrella. One hand held the soaked memorial, the woman's portrait beginning to garishly run down the cardstock, the other clenching and unclenching, veins popping and relaxing under his skin. He looked ticked, but it was his mother’s funeral. His eyes were squinted and there was no sign of any sort of emotional turmoil, just a straight faced, soaked to the bone teenager watching his mother get dropped six feet into the ground.

He was the most beautiful thing in the world. 

Ian tried not to stare, he really did. If there was such a thing as an inappropriate time to check someone out, it was a funeral. But he couldn't keep himself in line, for fucks sake; a boy, a pretty boy, right there in front of him. Nothing beats a good view. Ian's feet shifted in the muddy grass. 

After the ceremony was over, a reception was held back at the local bar. Men and women Ian hadn't even seen at the grave site came stumbling in, claiming to be part of the Milkovich party, and greedily gulped down as much whiskey as they could. 

Mickey stood in a corner, brooding and observing the crowd, undoubtedly seeing just what Ian was. His fingers flexed involuntarily. Ian watched as he adjusted his posture, leaning against the wall behind him and sighing deeply. He didn't look disturbed in the least. At the most, he looked bored. His skin was surrounded by a green aura from the assorted neon signs flickering from continued use, and he looked like something out of a film. A low budget, indie Chicago film, but still, a film. Ian let out a breath he was holding.

The boy must have felt Ian buring a hole into his skull, because as Ian sighed, he turned to look at him. The kid narrowed his eyes in question, but Ian just resolutely turned away, his face going red and the embarrassment hitting him hard. Ian was going to pass out. It was time to go.

Mickey's eyes were blue. 

__

The next day Ian Gallagher was being hustled out of the relative warmth of his home and into the thick, chilled air of South Chicago. Fiona had decided to bake some sort of pasta casserole for the Milkovichs, a symbol of hospitality not often extended in their neighborhood, especially not to someone of their notoriety. Ian assumed it had something to do with Monica. Good as dead, Fiona likes to say. Maybe she needed someone with a similar experience. 

The Milkovich porch sighed under the weight of three Gallaghers, and Fiona knocked just twice. A scuffle was heard, and a victorious "HA!" floated from the house. A young girl opened the door, scowling, black eyeliner smudged around her eyes. 

She looked like Mickey. 

Fiona smiled the biggest she ever had, and everything about her reeked ingenuity, although she was anything but. 

"Hi, Mandy, right? I heard about you mother." 

The girl, Mandy, just stood there, clearly not amused. Fiona swallowed thickly and readjusted. 

"We, uh, made you someth—"

"Can I use your bathroom?"

Ian scrunched his face. That didn’t sound shady at all. He hoped his reasons, reasons named Mickey Milkovich, weren’t as visible as they seemed to him

The girl just stood wide eyed before releasing a string of choice words about the Gallaghers and their mother, that continued at a screaming pitch as the crew panicked and fled, stairs creaking under their quickly retreating feet. They skidded from the pavement to the street, Mandy's voice still loud and clear. Glass shattered and casserole was strewn across the filthy tar somewhere near Ian's feet. He turned back just in time to see Mickey Milkovich standing at the door with his sister, looking more than a little confused.

\--

Lip walked into their shared bedroom, obviously something he was dying to talk about. He walked over to the foot of Ian’s bed, hesitantly taking a seat. Ian just huffed and kept his eye on the book in his hand. “Speak.”

“Ok, so you know the Milkovich girl?”

Ian’s eyes widened and he put the book down, now willing to engage in the conversation.

“Yeah,” He started, searching for a way to not seem like breathing was getting increasingly difficult, although it was. “Yeah, uh, Mandy?”

Lip nodded enthusiastically. “That’s the one. Well, I got invited to this mixer thing at some kids house, and I really wasn’t planning on going, but apparently she’s deciding to show her face, so now I’m kinda thinking I want to go.”

Ian frowned. “Sweet. Why exactly are you telling me?” Lip just smiled shyly, and Ian instantly adopted a look of annoyance.“I was hoping you’d cover for me.”

“Absolutely not.”

Lip started to whine, pulling at Ian’s sleeve like a hungry puppy. “Come on, I’d do it for you!”

Ian looked at him incredulously. He fucking would NOT. “What if I wanted to come?”

“I don’t want you to come! Biggest fucking cockblock…” Lip trailed off. Ian hit him with a pillow before breaking into a smile. Maybe something good could come out of this.

“I wouldn’t dare. Who’s going?”

Lip just shrugged. “A bunch of guys you wouldn’t know. A couple girls though, it thats what you’re asking. Trying to get in on the older women?” he teased, grabbing Ian’s feet where they lay under the covers. Ian yanked them back towards him and let out a pained breath. “Yeah, sure. But what about, like… people from around here? Like…” His head spun, trying to think of people he hadn’t expressed vehement hate for at one time or the other. “Oh, the Holt boys, or the Suttons, or the rest of the Milkovichs.” the words came out rushed, and Ian mentally slapped himself. 

Lip waved him away with his hand. “Nah, man, they all suck. I assume the Milkovich boys will be there, protecting Mandy’s honor and all. But you won’t want to fuck around with them.” Ian just offhandedly nodded, although in his head he had decided then and there that this party was the most important thing in his life. “I guess I could swing by.” Lip snorted at his brother and lifted off the bed. “Yeah, well we’ll head out around 10:00. Don’t tell Fiona, alright, you were my only cover.” 

Ian almost choked. “It’s tonight?!” 

Lip chuckled at Ian’s severity and the terrified look on his face, and proceeded to ruffle Ian’s hair, which only proved to agitate him more. He ripped off his covers and stomped to the bathroom, desperately trying to corral his hair into something resembling put together. Lip stood in the doorway, smiling softly as Ian struggled and let out a frustrated huff. “Try something more wild, girls like that.”

Ian wanted to grab Lip and shake him. Did he know what Mickey Milkovich liked? Instead, he just nodded and allowed Lip to use his gel to rough up Ians hair a bit. After a couple minutes, he was sufficiently dirtied up, to Lip’s satisfaction. He looked smug, saying “I’d fuck you.” Ian’s whole body shuddered and he left the cluttered bathroom, gagging. Lip just laughed and followed him out.


	2. How Mickey Milkovich saw Ian Gallagher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Mickey Milkovich saw Ian Gallagher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, these first chapters were written fast and short, but i really want to start getting into it next chapter, so bear with me

The first time Mickey Milkovich ever laid eyes on Ian Gallagher was at freshman orientation. 

He didn’t want to be there, he’d probably never step foot in a single classroom in this god-forbidden building, but Terry seemed to think this was just another way to lord his power over his youngest son, so there he was. There were maybe 15 kids in all that showed up for the stupid orientation, the rest much too busy for such trivialities. In the beginning, Mickey wished he was them.

Some woman, much too chipper for Mickey to handle, was going on and on about making them feel at home and blah blah blah, Mickey wasn’t hearing any of it, because maybe three feet away from him was the most gorgeous ginger he had ever fucking seen. 

He looked about Mickey’s height and was accompanied by an older girl, maybe a sister. She would occasionally squeeze his shoulder supportively, and he would turn and give her a grin that made Mickey break out in a hot sweat. The boy seemed in to whatever the instructor was saying, and his tongue would occasionally lick his lips as he concentrated. 

Mickey almost lost his mind.

Freshman Mickey was a bit more careless and out of control of his emotions than Mickey now, which is how he likes to explain the ridiculous behavior. Mickey wasn’t into guys, but Freshman Mickey thought he was, and the center of all this explicitly gay attention was Ian Gallagher.

Throughout the year, Mickey even showed up to class every once in a while, but never paid any attention. He just sat in the back, furiously staring at the boy until he frustrated himself and walked out. All in all, it was a miserable year. He didn’t pass a single class and didn’t go to a single one next year either. Essentially, he dropped off the grid and Ian Gallagher was out of sight, and, hopefully, soon, out of mind. 

\--

Mickey soon realized that not seeing the ginger fucker was almost as bad as actually seeing him. If he didn’t have such great control over his mind and body, his days would be eaten up by fantasies about meeting Ian and having him fuck a little bit of warmth into Mickey’s dreary life. But they weren’t. Because self control. 

Mickey found himself taking a sudden interest in things outside of the house, like the baseball games, and not letting himself hope a certain boy would show up. He would often end up disappointed anyway.

All of this, Mickey fighting against himself day in and day out, made Ian Gallagher quite the infamous character in Mickey’s head, to the point that seeing him almost physically hurt, and nothing helped. Everytime MIckey even thought of him, he would get angry with himself, and he began to resent the boy more and more every day.  
\--

Mandy adjusted Mickey’s black tie and smoothed her hands down his shirt, fussing over the wrinkles. Mickey just swatted her away, tired of being criticized already. He knew much more of that would be waiting for him at the funeral, and he was going to need all the grace in the world to not slap a bitch. He looked in the cracked mirror, courtesy of Terry, and sighed. Here goes nothing.

He hopped into the random beat up Ford Mandy had managed to scrounge up, after his four brothers who seemed just as uncomfortable as them.

If it was just up to them, their mother would be cremated and taken care of quick, but of course some family member far down the line quickly decided that a proper funeral was in order, fucking flowers and all. All of the Milkovich kids were just as petulant about it as anything, not wanting to have to sit through what would inevitably be an emotional bloodbath. But, to appease Terry’s impending wrath, they went along with it. Grudgingly, if anything.

True to the Milkovich name, the crew showed up a half hour late. They all bumbled out of the car and into the pouring rain. ‘How fitting’, Mickey thought, as did the rest of his siblings. They trudged up to their reserved seats right up front. Halfway up the aisle, though, Mickey caught sight of a familiar shock of red hair and almost swallowed his tongue. No way. No fucking way.

The service started quickly after they arrived and without incident. Soon the chairs were cleared and the small group still present stood around his mother’s grave as the pastor recited some bible passage Mickey couldn’t be assed with. Instead, all his focus was on not passing out. He had to keep a level head and not stare, because if he so muched a caught a glimpse, he would lose his mind, royally. He convinced himself it was the emotion of the moment, his mother was fucking dead, but it didn’t matter where it sprung from, it just mattered that those feelings were _there_ , front and center, and not going anywhere. 

\--

Mickey thought the reception was stupid and so many people were there that he didn’t even know, but there was free alcohol, so it really wasn’t a surprise. People really had no respect. 

Worst of all, the Gallagher kid was there, sitting at the bar like he fucking owned the place, just smiling at the bartender and drumming his fingers. Wholly indecent. 

He looked away. _Stop_. He couldn’t do this to himself. He dared one last look at the boy.

And the boy was looking right back.

He was sure everyone around him could hear his heart beating out of his chest. His first instinct was to give the kid the meanest glare he possibly could. How fucking dare he be there, all dressed up and stupid and hot. Mickey was pissed. After a couple seconds of Mickey’s ‘fuck off’ stare, he finally seemed embarrassed enough to look away and shuffle in his seat uncomfortably. Whatever twinge of guilt Mickey had passed quickly.

\--

“Stop fucking arguing Mandy!”

A frustrated huff was heard from the kitchen as Mandy stormed to sit next to Mickey on the couch. She was constantly begging, and Mickey didn’t even know what for. Confused, he turned to Jaime, who glared at him and shook his head. Obediently, Mickey told Mandy no, and ha still wasn’t quite sure what was going on.

“I’m a full grown fucking adult!”

Iggy snorted. “You’re 16.” Mandy just proceeded to stick her tongue out like a five year old, earning a snicker from Mickey, which earned him a glare from Iggy. 

Jaime looked about a minute away from tumbling Mandy off the couch. She stood her ground though, draped dramatically over Mickey and sighing loudly, as if all everyone was doing was inconveniencing her. 

“Look, we aren’t going to be here by tomorrow, and you sure as hell aren’t going to some crack den with that fucking Gallagher prick without some supervision.” Jaime reasoned. Mickey stiffened and curled his toes at the name. Mandy still looked pissed. She looked at every brother, giving them her best stare down with as much force as a teenage girl could put behind it. Tony cracked first, sighing.

“Do you really want to go?”

Mandy nodded with as much vigor as she could muster.

Tony sighed again, this time deeper, before slowly turning to Mickey. Mickey shook his head, hard, because no fucking _way_. 

“Mi-”

Mickey stood up, flinging Mandy to the floor, and an affronted grunt escaped her. “There is not a chance in hell you can get me to go.”

“Come on man, do something nice for her.”

Mickey just looked incredulously at them all. Each of his brothers nodded in sync. He huffed and hauled ass to his room, a chorus of ‘keep your fucking eye on her!’ drifting past him as he pretended not to preen in front of the mirror. Fucking Gallaghers.


	3. Mandy Milkovich, A Good Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party I guess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I’m still working on this “writing” thing so bear w/ me

The “mixer” was exactly what Ian had assumed it would be. Makeshift kegs were crammed into every corner of the rundown house. About a fourth of the kids there were gathered around short coffee tables sniffing blow and promptly hitting the dance floor, twirling like their life depended on it before the comedown hit and they drifted off the the empty bedrooms. Everyone was drunk and Ian felt monumentally out of place. Lip must seen Ian’s fear, because he handed Ian a solo cup, which was eagerly accepted, and headed towards a couple of his friends, instructing Ian to do the same. 

Ian took a sniff of what Lip had handed him and quickly recoiled. It smelled like it could fuel a rocket, and Ian took a hesitant sip. It was a kick in the mouth, but Ian just kept drinking, begging his tightly strung nerves to give just a little. 

One thing Ian seemed to overlook in his desperate hustle to meet Mickey Milkovich was the fact that he would know practically no one there. The friends he did have at school weren’t exactly the coke and hennessy type, but then again, neither was Ian. He took another measured gulp from his cup.

It wasn’t as if people would notice him standing there awkwardly; they were all either dancing to hard to notice or were too high to care. Ian dared to take a little stroll through the house to quell his nerves.

Surprisingly, the house was quite big, and once he got off the ground floor, the music became muted and the screaming less severe. Ian smiled to himself as he stepped off the stairs and was greeted by a large family picture. He recognised the boy and the family from school, which made him a little less nervous. Not much.

He continued his impromptu tour through the house, peeking his head into three upstairs bedrooms, all decorated minimalistically, yet still with poor taste. After about two rounds of just walking and drinking, Ian was feeling quite calm. The harsh lines of picture frames and corner walls faded to softness and it seemed the floor was slowing tilting a bit to the left underneath him. The facade of safety had fallen around him and he headed down the stairs slowly, still not quite used to walking while drunk. _One foot in front of the other_ , he told himself, and was in fact so focused on teaching himself to walk that he didn’t see a frazzled looking girl head straight for him.

The two banged heads, and Ian instantly stepped back, moaning and rubbing his head softly. He wasn’t given much revival time, because the girl had soon linked arms with him and was cooing softly.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry!” she started, caressing the side of his face. Ian was confused and not exactly sure that everything going on was actually happening, so he just nodded and slurred an ‘ok’ as she continued to fret over him.

“Sorry boys, my boyfriend here seems a little out of it, would you please excuse us?”

Boyfriend? Who the hell was this?

Ian heard some disgruntled and dejected groans and felt himself get pulled down to sit on the stairs. Ian went with it, suddenly feeling like standing took way too much energy. The girl quickly began talking, slowly and quietly, which Ian was thankful for.

“I’m sorry, they’ve been trailing me all night. Gotta keep them on their toes.” She chirped, and began giggling when Ian furrowed his eyebrows. She looked awfully familiar…

“Sorry…” she trailed off when Ian said nothing. Ian kept the same confused look until Mandy matched his, started to get a little scared by Ian’s silence. She leaned towards him and seemed to be checking his pupils, when Ian gasped loudly, finally realizing who it was; the black hair, the pretty mouth- this was the Milkovich girl. He began trying to speak, trying to explain that he knew her and knew her family and would _love_ to get to know her brother, but nothing came out. He just sat there, his mouth half open, blubbering. The girl’s worry was stripped away and she laugh good-naturedly. She stood and attempted to haul Ian to his feet, only Ian wasn’t having any of it. He sat stubbornly on the stairs, finally remembering why he really wanted to come to the stupid party in the first place. Mandy continued to tug at him, before finally giving up and plopping down on the stairs next to Ian. 

“You’re making things so difficult.” She huffed, squirming against the rough carpet and rubbing Ian‘s back when a new flare of his headache hit with full force, causing him to double over. When it subsided, she tried to start up a conversation again. 

“Im Mandy,” she started, pointing to herself like she was teaching a five year old. Ian found he didn’t mind, because he kinda felt like the world was spinning. All he could bring himself to do was stare encouragingly, and Mandy seemed to understand, continuing. 

“You’re Ian, yeah? I’ve seen you around.” 

Ian continued to stare. 

“What exactly did you drink?”

Ian just furrowed his eyebrows and thought back to the beginning of his night, when Lip had handed him the cup in the first place. He soon learned that membering hurt just as much as anything else. He scrunched his face in pain before Mandy simply sighed and shook her head. She stood as smoothly as she could, so as not to disturb Ian, and headed up the stairs to the nearest bathroom. Ian just sat on the bottom step, his head spinning, as he looked for something to focus on. The blinding flash of police sirens-turned-party lights all throughout the home made Ian’s head spin and his stomach curl. The people around him moved blurrily, slinking from side to side. It took everything in Ian’s power not to pass out just then.

Not soon enough, Mandy thumped down the stairs, with a pill bottle and a paper water cup sloshing precariously in her hand. She plopped next to Ian, immediately opening the bottle and pouring out three identical red pills before dumping them in Ian’s outstretched hand. He quickly swallowed them with the help of the water, not really caring what they were as long as they got rid of his wretched headache. 

“You should feel a little better in 10 minutes. Until then, take a fucking breather.” She advised, and this time successfully dragged Ian up the stairs. She set him in the hallway, telling him to come find her when he was feeling up to it. Ian nodded, already starting to feel the effects of whatever she had given him. 

Soon the uncomfortable grogginess was replaced by a much welcome and more invigorating buzz, and Ian lifted himself off the carpet and took a few practiced steps before heading down the stairs again. As soon as he hit the main floor, he was once again thankful for the removal of his inhibitions, otherwise he would have bolted out the door that very second. He shook off his lingering doubts and headed for a newly familiar head of black hair. 

Mandy saw him and smiled brightly, coming to smooth his shirt with the palms of her hand. “You look _much_ better.” She said, nodding. Ian just nodded back.

“Thank you, by the way. This isn’t exactly my scene.” He added. The girl just snorted and took his hand and headed for a large group of kids. “Hopefully we can fix that…”

\--

It took Ian maybe five seconds to integrate into Mandy’s friend group, easily making conversation and laughing along to the crappy, alcohol fueled jokes. After awhile, the conversation had died down, and Mandy tugged on Ian’s sleeve, asking silently if he would dance with her. One of her friends, a short boy with blond shaggy hair named Sam, grunted in annoyance.

“Ugh, Ian, don’t play into her twisted mind games. She’s been trying to get that douche to pay attention to her all night.” He said, pointing to the corner of the room, where, to Ian’s surprise, stood his brother. Ian turned to Mandy and raised an eyebrow as she blushed deeply. Ian just laughed and took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

Ian had always liked dancing, it had been something fun and a good release of energy on the days he felt like he could keep going on forever. So dancing with Mandy in a way to attract his brothers attention was really a piece of cake. A bass heavy song soon filled the room and Ian found them a spot right near the middle and Ian pulled her into him, flush against his body, and began to sway along to the music, his hands on Mandy’s hips. They danced together silently for a moment before Mandy leaned into him, whispering into his ear.

“Don’t get fucking attached or anything.” She warned, and it was Ian’s turn to snort. He continued to grind against her as she donned a confused look. 

“What, I’m not your type?”

Ian just shrugged and glanced around them a little self consciously. He really didn’t want to get into this with a girl he had just met. “No, nothi— well, yeah.” He said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Mandy just nodded and continued to dance against him, although her eyes were trained somewhere else. Ian sighed internally, finally calling to mind the reason he had for being there in the first place. He took a quick sweep of the dance floor, although he didn’t peg Mickey for much of a dancer. He was beginning to get antsy, his eyes darting as far as they could without having to explain himself to Mandy. Thankfully, just as Ian was about to make an excuse to step away, Lip sidled up beside him, fury in his eyes. Ian just smirked as Lip fumed. 

“Mind if I step in?” He said, staring at Mandy. He didn’t even wait for Ian to respond before knocking him squarely in the chest with his elbow and taking his place. Mandy was beet red, blushing even harder when Ian gave her two thumbs up from behind Lip. Enlivened, Ian set out on a search. 

Ian slipped out of the living room and into the kitchen where a crowd of stoners rummaged in the pantry. Ian quickly picked apart the crowd, yet didn’t find that head of black hair. The same was true of both the den and the dining room. Just as Ian began to lose hope, a large crash and screams of encouragement filled the air, and he found himself bolting to the living room. There, right on the edge of the makeshift dance floor, was his brother on his back, sporting a bloody nose, and on top of him was a black haired boy, beating the shit out of him. Mandy rushed towards them, yanking at the boy’s arm, but all he did was push her away and continue his bloody crusade. 

He got in a few good hits, a satisfying yet terrifying crush following each. As the boy raised his fist a fourth time, Lip took advantage of his off balance position and grabbed his arm, flipping them so he straddled the boy and spared no time in landing a well timed punch to his left cheek. The boy seemed unphased, digging his nails into Lips bicep and earning a loud howl. 

Ian suddenly rushed towards them, grabbing Lip roughly by both arms and hauling him up to the best of his abilities. He struggled backwards off the boy and Ian pulled him a good three feet away, giving him space to regroup. Mandy was instantly on the boy still laying on the ground, tugging him up by the jacket and giving him a once over. The boy simply shrugged her off and headed straight for Lip again.

Ian’s eyes went wide as soon as the second the boy had turned to face them. His hair was sticking up in every direction and blood was smeared garishly down his cheek. He held his stare at Lip, looking like rage itself, and it took everything in Ian’s power not to double over. He found Mickey Milkovich.

Before either of them could do much more damage, Mandy grabbed her brother by the scruff and dragged him towards the stairs to the basement, kicking him roughly in the back of the knees anytime he attempted to shake out of her grip. She was muttering to herself as she shoved him through the doorway and down the concrete stairs, following after him.

Lip stared unblinkingly as Mandy descended, his breathing still heavy and labored. He defiantly headed across the room directly to where Mandy had just disappeared, growling when Ian grabbed his sleeve and yanked him to a halt.

“You just got your ass beat, do you really want to go back down there for round too?” Ian asked, trying to hold Lip’s gaze. He just shook his head and attempted to free himself of Ian’s grip, his eyes darting to the basement where loud voices were starting to flow up the stairs. Ian swallowed thickly and looked between the basement doorway and his brother. The people around them had already lost interest and were moving to the beat once again as music pounded. Lip looked steely, and Ian was curious. Reluctantly, he loosened his grip just enough for his brother to slip free and bolt for the stairs, Ian close behind on his heels. 

As soon as Lip had descended and rounded the corner, Mickey lost his mind. 

“You stay the fuck away from my sister, you hear me?” He snarled, walking as close to Lip as Mandy dared to let him, steam practically rolling out of his ears. Ian gulped, but stayed behind far enough to stay out of the way, kicking against the floor to try to settle his nerves. 

“If I ever see you up on her like that again, I’ll shove my whole foot up your ass and out your mouth. I’m tempted to do it now, but I won’t. Im nice like that.” Mickey started with mock cheeriness, but Lip didn’t flinch. The sneer on Mickey’s face grew, and he grabbed Lip’s collar menacingly before Mandy could come up behind him and place a warning hand on his back. He tensed slightly before adding, “Stay the fuck away from her”, and giving him a rough shove backwards for measure. Lip stumbed back, sparing a glance at Mandy and her disappointed expression before quickly retreating past Ian and up the stairs. Mandy sat her brother down on the squeaky couch behind them and let Mickey shuffle a bit, getting comfortable and leaning his head onto the back of the couch, before she landed and sharp slap to the unbloodied side of his face. He instantly coiled in on himself, swearing under his breath and gingerly holding his raw skin. 

“The fuck, Mandy?!” he whined as her expression steeled and she crossed her arms, unwilling to help her writhing brother. 

“Stop hitting every boy I come in contact with!” She snapped, landing another, yet significantly less powerful, slap across Mickey’s thigh. He just bristled and turned away from her. 

“Are you really pouting right now?”

Mickey blew air out of his nose and stretched out, still facing away from her. She lifted off the couch and pounded out of the room and up the stairs, where Ian stood, his mouth half open. Mandy continued past him, but Ian picked up the pace and followed right behind her.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting a fucking drink, what about you?” she fumed, heading straight for the nearest keg and filling two cups to the brim and making quick work of one of them, wiping her mouth haphazardly. She took a quick look around, seeming to be searching for someone, before stiffening her jaw and walking back towards the stairs. Ian followed suit.

“Uh, I think Lip blew out…” Ian started, only to receive a glare from Mandy that set his hair on edge. “I’m sure he’s sorry, Mandy.”

Mandy just seethed and steadied the dripping cup in her hand, pointedly ignoring Ian as they hit the basement floor

She stomped back over to her brother and handed him the full cup as Ian shuffled into the room a bit farther, still a bit nervous. Mandy shuffled closer to the grumpy lump that was Mickey and pointed roughly to the open spot. Ian thought about it for all of three seconds before settling next to her. The pouting boy must have felt the shift in the couch, because his head popped up and his gaze settled on Ian. Unsure of how much fight was still left in him, Ian shifted uncomfortable. 

“He’s a _friend_ , dumbass.” Mandy chided, settling in deeper on the couch. “He’s chill and not trying to get up my skirt, so please, put the fucking gun down for two seconds.”

Mickey still looked wary, but decided to lay back in his previous position, still glowering in spite of himself and nursing his sore face. Mandy continued,

“Whenever you’re done having your little hissy fit, tell me, so we can go home. I’m done with your violent ass.” She grumbled. Mickey just shot her a look that could kill and lifted off the couch, staring down at her like she was the one being childish and ridiculous. Ian found himself grinning at the stare off. 

“What the fuck are you smiling about, ginger?” Mickey clipped, which only made Ian want to smile even bigger. He had the decency to shrug and turn away. Mandy stood slowly and headed for the stairs, going halfway up before yelling, “Ian!”, and he scurried up behind her, and Mickey behind him.

The three of them managed to get out of the stuffy house without much incident. The minute he walked out the door, Ian was thankful for the cold. The chilled wind brushed through his sweaty hair and hit the back of his neck. Ian smiled and sighed contentedly, an absent hand coming up to redirect his hair. He looked up towards the sky, another breeze flying past them as they stood on the sidewalk as he waited for Mandy to shuffle into the shoes she’d taken off mid-dance. After a soft grunt from her, Ian turned to Mandy, but caught Mickey a few feet away instead, his eyes on Ian and his mouth slightly open, looking much too interested in whatever Ian was doing. Ian cocked his head as Mickey coughed and quickly glanced towards Mandy, his blush apparent even in the cover of night. A smile soon flooded Ian’s face as Mickey sharply told Mandy to get a move on. She just groaned and stood up a bit lopsidedly. 

“Broke my fucking heel…” she grumbled, stumbling to Ian and grabbing on to his arm. Ian just laughed and helped her walk along the uneven pavement. 

Ian lived much closer than the Milkovichs, and within 10 minutes they had arrived at Ian’s home. Mandy quickly pecked Ian’s cheek, and made him promise to find her at school. Ian agreed and tucked into the doorway, mumbling a goodnight to Mickey. 

—

As soon as Ian was out of sight, Mickey let out a breath he’d been holding the entire walk. Of course Mandy had to become buddy-buddy with the one boy Mickey couldn’t stand straight around. He could barely contain himself when he was in the same fucking classroom as him, so spending a whole hour two steps away from him obviously wasn’t doing Mickey any good. Oblivious to Mickey’s internal suffering, Mandy stood next to him, skipping as happily as she could with a broken heel. She must have noticed Mickey’s stricken expression, saying, “He’s not into me, Mick. Don’t get all defensive.” Mickey just played along, giving her a sidelong look.

“I don’t know, and seemed pretty fucking happy. I don’t trust Gallaghers.” 

She looked at him like he was a toddler. “Mick, he grinded on me for half an hour and didn’t get a hard-on. Either I’m really off my game or he’s some kind of gay.” 

Mickey stopped cold, his eyes widening significantly, staring at nothing in particular. Mandy noticed and started sputtering.

“I, I mean, he probably isn’t. I’m just being a bitch about it. Can’t win ‘em all, right. He did say I wasn’t his type…” she continued, not really knowing when to stop. Mickey quickly put her out of her misery. 

“He said that?”

Mandy nodded, adding, “Yeah, he really did.” She still seemed to be trying to convince Mickey, worried he’d go play smear-the-queer at Ian’s expense. Mickey just tried his hardest to look unconvinced and scary, as if that ever was his motive in the first place. 

“Yeah, well, if he touches you, I rip his throat out.” 

Mandy just laughed, relieved, and linked an arm with Mickey as they reached their house. Before they stepped in, Mickey stopped her. 

“So, the Gallagher kid… you guys friends now or whatever?” He said, feigning disinterest as much as he could and fiddling with the stuck door handle. 

Mandy just thought about it and nodded. “He’s sweet. He’s also got the best fucking abs. He’ll be useful for when those wimps that call themselves men try to fuck around with me,” she looked thoughtfully at Mickey before adding, “he’ll be my school muscle, ya know, keeping the boys you can’t at bay. Maybe you two should get together sometime.” She finished, heading through the opened door. Mickey just shut his eyes tight, wondering how the fuck he was going to survive this.


	4. Fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have told you guys that updates would be sporadic. Sorry.

Much to Mickey’s surprise, the next few weeks went by without so much as a hiccup. Mandy had grown progressively closer to Ian, and the two fit together like a couple of rough-edged puzzle pieces. Mandy liked to talk, and Ian liked to listen, and Mickey could feel himself growing softer with each day. Mandy tried to keep Ian away from the house often, still not completely convinced Mickey wouldn’t go apeshit on him like he had every other boy Mandy brought home. Mickey was simultaneously grateful and disappointed. Every once in a while, Mickey would come home to see Mandy draped across Ian on the couch, the boy valiantly attempting to do homework while she continued to be a nuisance. Ian would smile and half-heartedly shove her face away, only for Mandy to burrow farther into him. Mickey would struggle not to burst into flames.

One day in early May found Mickey absently shooting at a mountain of empty beer cans, trying to ignore the hushed conversation happening on the busted couch a few steps away from his room. Ian had come in in a dramatic huff, as was his wont, and Mandy had instantly noticed things were not all well. She had practically kicked Mickey out of his own living room, ushering Ian onto the couch with pity like for a injured animal. They had been at it for over an hour now, and Mickey was legitimately planning on jumping out his window when Mandy busted in and took a seat at the bottom of his bed. Mickey raised an eyebrow as Mandy put on her best face.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Oh, shove off. What the fuck do you want?” Mickey asked dejectedly, already realizing he didn’t have a choice in whatever he was going to be asked. 

“Ian’s having a rough time-- oh, don’t look at me like that!-- he’s having a _really_ rough time with his family…”

Mickey just huffed and set down his gun, crossing his arms petulantly. 

“ _Everybody’s_ having a rough time with their family, he’s just a pussy about it.”

That earned Mickey a slap to the back of the head, and he laughed before he conceded, his hands up in mock surrender. Mandy tried to control her annoyance. 

“Yeah, well, he’s struggling and needs a place to crash and we have a couch so I thought ‘that couldn’t be a coincidence’ so basically I already told him he could stay and really, I’m just letting you know that. You’re the best.”

“Wait-- MANDY!” Mickey screamed at her smug retreating form. Sometimes, he swore she did this shit on purpose. 

\--

Later that day, after Mandy had gone out on a shopping spree, Mickey walked out to see Ian  
laying upside down on the couch, attempting to play Black Ops. He would occasionally grunt in frustration, shuffling uncomfortably. Honestly, Mickey had come out of his room to tell Ian to get the fuck out, but now, he wasn’t sure: he was witnessing possibly the cutest thing he’d ever seen. Ian’s eyes trailed over to Mickey for a second before darting back to the screen.

“You aren’t very good at this.” Mickey said, trying not to look at Ian’s long form spread in front of him. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.”

Ian went back to playing his game while Mickey stood wondering if he should sit down next to Ian on the couch. Realizing he probably wouldn’t be able to stop himself from sprawling on top of Ian if he was anywhere near him, and opted for the kitchen table instead. 

As he pulled out the chair, Ian shot up, his legs still dangling over the top of the couch. 

“There's room by me, you know.” Ian said innocently. 

“Nah, man, its-- good.” Mickey said lamely. Ian stared a little longer before shrugging and laying back down to play his game. Mickey just let out a breath, realizing how stupid he looked sitting so far away for no reason. The embarrassment was making his skin crawl. Ian, frustratingly, seemed just fine. 

The boys stayed there for half an hour, Ian graciously accepting a few of Mickey’s tips and actually becoming quite good at upside down game play. Meanwhile, Mickey struggled to keep his voice level. Ian seemed calm at at ease in Mickey’s home, and it twisted Mickey’s heart in a way he would never admit. A voice whispered to Mickey that this was the best he would ever get, and grudgingly, Mickey agreed, only frustrating himself more and more. After about eight rounds of zombies, Ian sat up and sighed, and Mickey was practically vibrating, violently cleaning his gun, as if a glock would somehow give him the answers he was seeking. 

Ian risked a long look at Mickey, his breathing growing deeper until he looked away. He’d had more conversation with Mickey in 30 minutes than he’d ever had before, and was discovering that everything about the boy made Ian want to crawl into him and never leave. Just his voice, and the fact that he could practically hear it when Mickey scowled or smiled. Ian bit his lip, weighing his options, before turning to Mickey.

“Hey, uh, Mick--”

Ian was interrupted by the loud crash of the door and Mandy’s hushed curses.

“Can one of you whores please come help me?” She roared from the porch, a truckload of groceries accompanying her. Mickey stood up much too quickly for Ian’s liking, and suddenly he was feeling avoided, much how he felt every other time he was around Mickey. Today had been his holy grail, the one time Mickey seemed chill enough to settle down and have a conversation. He understood Mickey’s neverending need to protect his sister, but it bred a sort of hostility towards Ian that was almost unbearable. There was nothing he wanted more than to merely be able to sit next to Mickey without him bristling and moving to-- well, anywhere but near Ian. Ian loved Mandy to death, but in this moment, he wanted to strangle her. 

Mickey saddled up with as many bags as he could, gritting his teeth and waddling back towards the kitchen as Ian enjoyed the view of his retreating form. When Mickey was finally out of sight, Ian went and took another load. The second he stepped onto the porch, he was greeted by a sea of plastic bags. 

“Jesus, Mandy, you stocking up for the freaking apocalypse?”

She flipped him off, saying, “No, its for Hurricane Ian, since you can’t seem to stop shoving your face.” Ian laughed softly as he headed toward the kitchen, dutifully stocking the fridge. It took a good 15 minutes to get everything in its rightful place, and Mandy popped a frozen pizza into the oven before they all settled in the living room. Ian and Mandy sat in their usual positions, Mandy sprawled across Ian’s legs, and Mickey stood awkwardly before sitting in the distressed armchair beside the couch. Ian and Mandy did their usual wrestling match for the remote, Ian ultimately letting Mandy win after a couple good jabs to the side. Mickey just stared distantly at the tv screen and let his stomach flip, refusing to allow himself to wish he was in Mandy’s place.

—

The crew had ended up watching Rosemary’s Baby when Mandy was determined to prove she could handle it, which she actually couldn’t, and ended up on Ian’s lap for the entire movie. Mickey must have been some kind of masochist, because it took everything in his power to look away from Ian’s hand trailing idly through Mandy’s hair. The minute the credits rolled, Mickey had mumbled some excuse before heading for his room as casually as he could. He closed the door before hitting the bed at full force. He tried to realize that this was fine, this whole situation was fine, because Ian likes Mandy and Mickey isn’t gay, but instead he just laid on his bed and seethed. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and forget Ian Gallagher and feel at ease in his own home, but of course, to no avail. 

About half an hour later, Mandy walked into Mickey’s room slowly, the creeking door rousing Mickey from his thoughts. 

“Ian’s asleep.”

“Don’t care.”

“Come on Mick, he’s not trying to get in my pan--”

Mickey just scoffed and started to pick at the peeling paint on the wall

“Isn’t he? He’s so fucking grabby…” Mickey muttered, snarling at just the thought. 

“He’s not into me, Mick.” Mandy said with a quiet finality, a finality that would have put hope into a lesser man. Instead, Mickey just shook his head and turned farther away from her, silently willing to Mandy to leave. Eventually, she did, and Mickey tried to sleep.

—

The next morning, Ian was awoken by the smell of bacon and the sound of Mandy’s humming. He opened his eyes testily, adjusting to the light streaming in through the window. He stretched across the couch, which emitted a few concerning creaks. 

“Oh, Ian, thank GOD you’re awake.” Mandy wailed, abandoning her sizzling bacon to grab Ian by the face and sloppily kiss his forehead. Ian grimaced at the sound and shoved Mandy away, comically rubbing at his forehead. Ian peered over the head of the couch, not so subtly checking if Mickey was sitting in the kitchen with Mandy. She rolled her eyes, but said nothing, placing 10 slices of sizzling bacon onto a plate and carrying it to the couch. 

“Wh—”

“Fucked off somewhere, I don’t know. Left pretty early.”

Ian looked at Mandy for a few seconds, confused. 

“How did you—”

“Don’t ask.” She said finally, plopping next to Ian on the couch and shoving the plate of warm bacon onto his lap. Ian knitted his brows, but Mandy only ushered the bacon closer to him, so Ian quickly dug into his breakfast. The two sat on the couch in silence as Ian ate, Mandy occasionally sneaking glances at a mentally preoccupied Ian. She watched his eyes fix somewhere distant out the window and him fall into thought. She sat next to him, as he was in his own world, until they couldn’t delay any longer. She patted his thigh, rousing him, saying, “We gotta start walking.” She grabbed the plate and set in in the sink. Ian grumbled a bit before slinging his bag over his shoulder and ducking out of the door after Mandy. 

—

The school was surprisingly full and bustling, and none of Ian’s classes were particularly taxing that day, which he should have known would be a toxic combination. By second block, he was practically vibrating with pent up nervous energy. Mandy must have sensed it from a mile away, because she was at the door as Ian walked into his Algebra II class. 

“Are you doing ok?” She asked apprehensively. “Saw you in the hall, you looked ready to kill.”

Ian rolled his eyes, but stopped at Mandy’s genuine expression. “What do you even mean? I’m...” He trailed off, Mandy’s calculating eyes boring into him. Ian bristled a bit, shifting the bag on his shoulder hesitantly. “I’m… tired. Just not in the mood.” he finished steadily, nodding as if affirming himself. Mandy didn’t look too sure, but Ian simply smiled and walked into the classroom. 

Whether he would admit it to Mandy or not, Ian _was_ in a mood, and he wasn’t sure why. Everything rubbed against him like sandpaper, even interacting with Mandy was getting on his nerves. He tried to push it off as lack of sleep and go on with his day, but it seemed that that wasn’t working. And, to top off his spectacular mood, the classroom was filled to the brim, as loud as could be, and Ian felt ready to burst. His teacher didn’t even attempt to quiet the students, sitting at his desk and fidgeting on his computer. Ian plopped down into the nearest desk and prayed for strength. 

One especially annoying boy, some kid Ian had never even seen before, was losing it in the corner, screaming to the people right in front of him and flailing. He was big, much bigger than Ian, and no one seemed too keen on shutting him up. But , the more Ian tried to ignore it, the harder it got, and the loud sounds became deafening. Before quite registering what he was doing, Ian shot from his seat and fixed a wild stare at the boy.

“Can you possibly shut the fuck up?” Ian hissed, but the kid just looked at him deadpan before continuing his loud and heated conversation. Ian took even more offense to being ignored, and walked over the the kid, grabbing him by the shoulder, before saying again, this time much louder, “Did you hear me? I said--”

Before Ian could finish, he felt hot pain shoot through the left side of his jaw, blooming up to his cheek. He staggered backwards slightly, temporarily put off, until he caught sight of the boy simply snarl and turn away. Ian’s fury was at full flame again much too quickly, and he reared and landed a deftly placed kick to the back of the boy’s knees, watching him crumble and let out an angry grunt. People were beginning to take notice now, unconsciously forming a circle around the boys.

The boy, (Johnny, apparently, as was supplied by one of his friends), quickly grabbed Ian by the ankles, dragging him down, his head and shoulder slamming awkwardly against the tile. Johnny was quickly over him, landing heavy, timed punches to his face. Everytime Ian would jerk his head, blood would slash across his cheeks, and it felt like an eternity before someone finally intervened. 

It was a counselor, and one Ian knew quite well. Any time he would get into trouble, he went to Mr. Thomas. He’d know Ian when he was younger, they were practically neighbors, and when Ian had arrived as a freshman, the man had done everything he could to integrate him well. He’d taken on Ian as his personal job. Now, his job was making sure he didn’t die of blunt force trauma. 

The boy was quick to stop, thankfully, and Ian just laid on the ground feeling too weak to so much as prop himself up on his arms, one of which was feeling definitely not-right. Mr. Thomas gave him a moment by promptly sending Johnny out of the room before helping Ian up, using his large arms to support practically all of Ian‘s weight as they staggered out of the classroom. 

“I need to find Mandy...” Ian said thickly as soon as they were out the door, stumbling against the man beside him. Mr. Thomas nodded enthusiastically, trying to keep Ian awake and alert. 

“I’ll grab her. Wait here, Ian. Can you stand?” 

He mumbled an affirmative and the counselor dashed off. 

Ian slumped against the brick wall behind him, his vision blurry and tinted red. He could feel blood welling on his lower lip, and he gingerly sucked at it before grimacing in pain. He really should have got a couple punches in. 

Before he knew it, Mandy was walking towards him with determination, her purse swaying beside her. She looked like she wanted to punch Ian’s sorry face. Gladly, she refrained, simply placing a hand on either side of Ian’s face and squeezing. 

“What the hell did you get yourself into, huh? You need to stop picking fights you can win, I’ve told you this a thousand times…” She fussed, her grip still solid on his head. 

Ian nodded slightly, peeling Mandy’s now bloody hands away from his skin. He thanked Mr. Thomas quickly before allowing Mandy to lead he down the hallway and out the front door. 

—

The walk home was a bit of a struggle with Ian’s probably-concussion and jacked up shoulder, but they finally made it to the front door of the Milkovich house, with Mandy’s breath just as labored as Ian’s. About five minutes after they started walking, she had become extremely concerned with Ian’s dry-heaving and wheezing, but he’d waved her off dismissively. Now, she was halfway to calling an ambulance. 

They managed to get through the door with a couple grunts and moans, and Mandy plopped Ian down onto the couch into a bloody heap before heading to the bathroom to grab whatever medical tools she’d need to patch up the sorry heap that was Ian Gallagher.

She blew through Mickey’s room like a storm, which was not unusual, but this time, she was covered in blood. Mickey’s eyes widened as she went straight for the bathroom and began rummaging. “What the fuck…” he mumbled, regretfully getting off his bed and following Mandy to the bathroom. 

Mandy was crouched down, arms full of gauze, antibiotics, and towels. Mickey was growing more confused by the second. “What the hell is going on?”

“Ian got into a fight.” she said simply, double checking to make sure she had everything. She stood up and set the supplies on the countertop, checking her eyeliner in the mirror and tying her hair back sloppily.

“Ian’s here?” Mickey asked, toying with the package of bandaids. Mandy hummed, gathering all her selected items and leaving just as quickly as she had come. Mickey stood in the same place for what felt like an eternity, attempting to stop the hot sweat that crawled up his neck. He didn’t like it _at all_. He had planned on being gone long before the two had gotten home. Now, his plans were ruined, and he was completely unprepared. Soon, he was pacing his room, occasionally picking up something and placing it somewhere different under the rouse of tidying. He was feeling embarrassed, and he wasn’t even around Ian. He was probably out there right now, wallowing in a pool of his own blood and his second to last thought was Mickey Milkovich, and yet no matter how much he tried to convince himself, he still told himself that Ian was thinking at this exact moment, _Wow, that Mickey sure is weird._ It was practically eating Mickey alive. A sharp cry of pain cut through Mickey’s thoughts, followed by Mandy’s hushed ‘sorry’s. Before he could stop himself, Mickey was out his door and in the living room. 

Ian was sprawled on the couch on his back with Mandy hovering over him worriedly. He looked positively horrific— blood and scratches all over his face, his fists bruised extensively. Mickey stood silently, looking from Ian to Mandy then back to Ian.

“Mickey. Mickey! Are you listening to me at all? I need you to help me, I think his shoulder is dislocated.” 

He nodded dumbly, drifting to the couch and getting on his knees beside Mandy. Ian was moaning quietly, writhing a bit while staying off the offended shoulder. “Now, Mickey, what we are going to do is…” Mandy started in a slow, deliberate voice. Mickey slapped her in the arm. “I know what the fuck I’m doing.” 

Mandy did her short countdown before Mickey roughly shoved his shoulder down, which elicited a scream from Ian. His opposite hand flew up to Mickey’s shoulder and he gripped tightly, partially pushing him away until the pain subsided. His hand stayed though, loosely laid on Mickey’s jacketed chest as he heaved in relief. He was sure Ian could feel his heart beating out of his chest. The heat of Ian’s hand burned through the light fabric like fire, and Mickey backed away, overwhelmed. Ian seemed unphased again, and frankly a bit tired now that all his bones were in the proper place. 

Mandy finished hastily dressing all the wounds she could. Ian’s eyelids drooped heavily, and he responded with sleepy hums whenever Mandy asked if this hurt or if that was sore. Mickey made himself busy in the kitchen, not wanting to go back to the solitarily of his room just yet. Not when Ian was making such sweet little sounds. Finally, Mandy stood and wiped her hands ceremoniously, admiring her bandaged work of art. “Well, I’m off.”

Mickey widened his eyes and looked at her with alarm. She looked back at him with equal strength before slinging a bag over her shoulder and walking through the front door. 

Mickey swallowed thickly as Ian dosed on the couch, unaware of Mickey’s internal struggle. 

“Mickey?” He heard after about 10 minutes of deafening silence. He hummed affirmatively. 

“Can you come here for a second?” He asked, his voice still laced with sleep. Mickey looked at the couch where Ian was laid, before cautiously walking around to face him. 

“Sit.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow at him. Laid up, covered in dried blood, and half asleep, yet still trying to convey some kind of authority. It was kind of working. But, to be an asshole, Mickey stayed standing silently, his arms crossed. Ian sighed and gazed up at him before realizing it wasn’t worth the struggle of a breath. 

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

That was not what Mickey had expected. 

“What?” He said with as much disgust as he could muster. 

Ian smiled lopsidedly before continuing. 

“It’s just, you— you fixed me up, decided I owed you one.”

Mickey scoffed. “I don’t need lunch to make me feel better, ginger.”

“It’ll make _me_ feel better.” Ian countered. 

Mickey had already decided what he would say within two seconds, but gave it a good 10 to not seem eager. 

“Fine.”


	5. Closer, but Never Close Enough

As much as Mickey tried, he couldn’t get to sleep that night. He would cycle through how he thought the event that was lunch with Ian Gallagher would go and how he’d _like_ it to go, then work himself up until he’d have to take a couple laps around his room to cool off. His brain vaguely told him that getting a good night’s sleep would benefit him in the long run, he’d have more energy and his eyes wouldn’t be rung with purple. But, he continued pacing, eventually getting a grand total of maybe one restless hour of sleep. 

The sun was now peeking through his window and the streets below were silent. It was Saturday, all the kids were sleeping, and the adults were already packing in the local bar for “good conversation”. And, not but a few miles away, Ian Gallagher sat on his bed. 

Unbeknownst to Mickey, Ian had been in his exact same position, pacing and overthinking. Ian had only began realizing how absolutely fucking stupid he was once he’d gotten home. He had just asked Mickey Milkovich to lunch with him, after Mickey had made it quite well known he was not a fan. Ian was pretty sure his dick was making all of his decisions lately. No one in their right mind would ever ask Mickey Milkovich on a lunch date, and yet, here Ian is. He wasn’t sure he’d make it back alive. 

The day seemed to simultaneously crawl by and go too fast, and before Ian was quite ready, it was 12:00. He had spent the better half of two hours sifting through all the shirts and pants he had, trying to create the ‘effortlessly sexy’ look Mandy was trying to instill upon him, as well as fussing with his hair until it looked practically the same as it always did. He was nervous and shaky, and everytime he passed a mirror, he would readjust a stray hair or smooth the fabric of his cotton tee. Finally, he was out the door, apologizing to a frazzled Fiona. 

As he walked, he suddenly regretted that he hadn’t gotten a car. Maybe Mickey wouldn’t want to walk. Well, nothing could be done now. Quickly, due to Ian’s nervous thinkings, he arrived at the Milkovich House, and was almost tempted to knock. He had a key, Mandy had given it to him the day they’d met, but for some reason, he felt like being a little more… traditional. He raised a fist to knock, but the door was flung open, and Mickey stood in front of him. 

The second-guessing and worries of the day were washed away in one big wave; Mickey looked absolutely gorgeous, good enough to _eat_. The constant layer of dirt that covered him was now washed away and his unruly hair was neatly brushed into place. Instead of the dingy muscle tees (which, actually, Ian didn’t mind too much), he wore a soft, long sleeved shirt, the sleeves tucked a bit around his elbows. But, it seems, the attitude that came with dirty, mind-blowingly attractive Mickey also came with clean, mind-blowingly attractive Mickey. 

“Don’t stand there all fucking retarded, lets go.” He said, slamming the door shut behind him. Was it in his head, or was Mickey Milkovich _flustered_. Ian let out a pained sigh.

He had realized pretty much immediately that Mickey would absolutely refuse to go to some diner and sit with him and _talk_ , and had racked his brain for something Mickey would actually enjoy. Late at night, he’d decided on going to the Sox game: they could eat and hopefully, Mickey would enjoy the game enough to let loose, even just a little. 

“You in the mood for some baseball?” Ian started with, hoping to attract Mickey’s interest. To Ian’s delight, Mickey’s eyebrows raised. 

“It’s just, I was planning on going to the Sox game today, and realized I had…” Ian swallowed. “Overbooked my day. Probably better than lunch anyway.” He finished. Lies. All lies. But he had to sound nonchalant and cool, and this was how to do it. Mickey seemed to buy it though, shrugging.

“Whatever.”

—

Ian may have fibbed a little about ‘going’ to a Sox game. More like sneaking into a Sox game. Mickey seemed even more impressed by this, even cracking a small smile as the two ducked under the security camera in the restricted hallway. Ian feared his heart might burst. 

They found two seats near the back of the stadium, seats too bad for anyone to have picked. Ian didn’t mind though, because he sure as hell wasn’t there to watch baseball. Mickey seemed interested though, sitting near the front of his seat, his elbows on his knees, letting out frustrated little grunts every now and then. 

Ian was leaned back, looking at the hairs that curled at the nape of Mickey’s neck. Ian wanted to kiss him. He hadn’t paid much attention to the game at all, but something good must have just happened, because Mickey turned to him, all smiles, asking him ‘if he could believe that!’ Ian shook his head slightly, another tilted smile on his face. Mickey looked at him only a little while longer before he was drawn back in by the game. 

Mickey felt pretty happy at first, happier than he’d felt in a while. It was a great relief to be with Ian and not feel so… insignificant. Embarrassed. He was just a boy watching a baseball game with another boy. And they probably looked like friends, to the people who saw them. But, of course, Mickey felt another pang at this, that insignificant feeling rising to the surface once again. Ian wanted to repay him but not really _hang out_ , maybe he was even trying to win Mickey’s favor in the Mandy department, and that’s why they’d sat so far from the rest, so no one would have to see them together. Mickey felt self-conscious. Ian didn’t _have_ to do this, and he probably felt embarrassed, and now Mickey felt embarrassed, and every bone in his body was telling him how ridiculous he was for accepting Ian’s offer. He’d look stupid running off like a scared puppy, and he’d look ridiculous staying when he’s not wanted. He was stuck at an impasse, and Ian was quiet behind him. 

Ian saw Mickey’s shoulders tense after a moment of silence.

“Hey…” he started, reaching out to touch Mickey’s shoulder. Instead, Mickey flinched away, shuffling further up onto his seat and directing all his attention back to the game. 

Ian shut his eyes, grimacing at his own stupidity. Of course, he’d made Mickey uncomfortable. Again. Like he always did. He spent the rest of the game in silence, and so did Mickey, and Ian tried his hardest not to reach out and rub the tension from Mickey’s back.

Once the game ended, they were out of the stadium quickly, Mickey much farther ahead than Ian. Ian painted as he tried to catch up. 

“God, wait up, it’s like your tr—”

“I don’t care what you do with Mandy, just don’t fuck up. You have my blessing, or whatever the fuck. You can stop all of… _this_.” He blurted, gesturing between them. 

Ian was physically taken aback, looking from Mickey’s hands to his face, where his lips were tight and his eyes dark. All he could do was shake his head lamely, and Mickey scoffed before heading towards his own home. Despite everything in the situation screaming at Ian to stay the fuck back, he followed him anyway. 

“That’s what you think I’m doing? Buttering you up to get in your sister’s pants?”

Mickey just shrugged, inflicting anger even in the movement of his shoulders, and continued walking. Ian exhaled, following suit. 

“Are you fucking stupid?! I’m—”

Mickey turned around in a flash, trapping Ian with the most rage filled look he’d ever seen. Ian must have looked like a deer in the headlights. Oh god, what the fuck did he almost just do? He stayed silent, and Mickey’s eyebrows climbed even farther. 

“You’re…?”

“I’m… Not interested.” Ian said quietly. Not a complete lie. 

Mickey’s eyes shifted to confusion for a moment, before he huffed and turned away again. To his disappointment, Ian stayed right where he was. 

—

When Mickey came home, Mandy was sitting on the couch talking on the phone. She was laughing, the way she laughed only for Ian, and Mickey thought that it was just about the worst thing he’d ever heard. He went to his bedroom, closed the door, but just stood in the middle of his room, too disgusted with himself to do anything. 

He turned on his music as loud as it could go, and hummed to himself. He sat on the floor, his back against the bed, thumping his head against the covers. But, it seemed, nothing would help. He eventually must have crawled under the covers, dozing off restlessly to a song on repeat, pretending the angry tears that fell weren’t there. 

—  
Mandy was still on the phone as Mickey turned up his music, and she huffed and walked to the back porch before continuing.

“So, you like this girl?”

“ _Uh, Yeah. Yeah._ ”

“And you two talk?”

“ _Yeah, sorta. Not really. She hates me._ ”

“Oof. Are you sure?”

“ _Pretty damn sure._ ” 

“How can you tell?”

“ _She won’t talk to me, anytime I’m around her she seems so fucking uncomfortable. Nothing I do seems to make her happy. I mean, she treats me like I have a fucking disease, won’t even sit next to me. I took her out the other day, and she flipped on me halfway through, blaming me of using her to get to other people, even though i have no idea how she could even think that._ ”

Mandy sighed heavily across the phone, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes.

“Ian, if a girl hated you, you’d know. It sounds like she _likes you_.”

Ian laughed bitterly on the other line. 

“ _How can you say that, after everything I literally just told you?_ ”

“You are so stupid. She likes you, she’s uncomfortable around you because she _likes you_ , you make her nervous. Trust me, I’ve been there. Now, I never have a problem with this next part because I know that I’m fucking amazing, but some girls will refuse to believe you like them, no matter how much you show it. Damn, you could make out with her for an hour and she’d still sit at home wondering if you _really_ like her. So, she’ll try to push you away so she stops getting her hopes up.”

Ian promptly hung the phone up after a rushed goodbye. 

He racked his brain for anything that would say that Mickey was interested, but came up empty handed. But, Mandy was smart about this stuff, she couldn’t be wrong. He slowly laid back, trying to relax as hazy memories of Mickey crossed his mind. 

—

The next day Mandy invited Ian over before Mickey had woken up, so he didn’t have the chance to run. She was sick of his fucking attitude, and the more he ran from Ian, the more frustrated they both got. Mandy knew fuck all about the entire female gender, but she _did_ know her brother, and he liked Ian Gallagher. Hard. 

Ian looked positively miserable when he showed up, his face puffy from lack of sleep. She almost took pity on him, because trying to crack Mickey Milkovich would kill a lesser man.

“Beer?”

Ian nodded and took a seat on his part of the couch, instinctively making room for Mandy’s head on his lap. She was over quickly, two bottles in tow, and set them on the coffee table in front of them. She settled into Ian, head on his lap and a hand on his knee. He idly messed with her hair, somewhere deep in thought as Mandy watched whatever was on. 

Mickey had glorious timing, as ever, because right as he stepped from his room, he heard Ian Gallagher’s laugh from the couch. He stopped dead in his tracks. 

Mandy had heard Mickey’s door open, which was her que to get the hell out. 

“I’m going to go pick us up something to eat, what do you want?”

Ian just shrugged, still partially lost in thought. Mandy rolled her eyes and walked out the door. Mickey stayed where he was, frozen, as Ian sighed and sunk lower into the couch, his arms crossed. After a minute or two, Mickey convinced himself that it was ok to walk into the kitchen, and maybe if he was quiet, Ian wouldn’t hear him. Damn, he looked pretty mentally occupied. But, as soon as Mickey stepped from his spot, the floor creaked, and Ian’s head shot around. He sighed visibly in relief.

“Mickey.” He said, a small smile on his face. Mickey grimaced and kept on his way, heading towards the fridge. Ian was up and after him quickly.

“Hey, I’m sorry for… whatever I did yesterday. To upset you.” Ian said sincerely.  
Mickey breathed deeply, because now he could see Ian out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the fridge. 

“I’m not upset.” Mickey said with finality, grabbing the whole six pack and tucking it under his arm. He stood up from the fridge, closing the door and turning around, only to find himself trapped by the walls of Ian’s arms on either side of him. Mickey shifted his weight, his eyes down. 

“Move.”

Ian worried his lip between his teeth, his eyes still on Mickey. God, he really was gorgeous. 

“I know it’s not fine.” He said quietly, looking Mickey over once again. He was all rigid, his fingers flexing and unflexing. The movement was so familiar to Ian he could have cried. Mickey was breathing shallowly, looking directly over Ian’s shoulder. Overcome for a moment, Ian ducked his head, slowly, and now he was close enough to take a deep breath, Mickey’s smell surrounding him. Ian’s head was spinning. His lips were almost to Mickey’s neck when Mickey took a shaky breath and softly pushed past Ian, going straight to his room. Ian stood where he was and leaned his forehead against the cold fridge door instead of the warm body he’d had below him just seconds ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, the song Mickey was listening to was Hemorrhage by Fuel. Feel free to listen and cry.


End file.
